


Matrimony

by ariel2me



Series: Drabble/Ficlet Collection [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Stannis/Selyse drabbles.</p><p>Chapter 7: Stannis and Selyse during Shireen’s illness</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Cold**

They deserved each other, she had heard it whispered. Stannis Baratheon and his cold, haughty wife. But unlike her husband, her coldness was a coldness taught, not one born and bred in the bones. She was once a girl who dreamed of beautiful weddings, of blushing brides and laughing grooms. She never confided those dreams to a soul; not her mother, not even cousin Delena, one of her very few friends. They would have laughed, she knew. Ugly Selyse, sticking out like a sore thumb even among the other not-so-beautiful Florents with their prominent ears. Strange Selyse, charmless and loveless.

 _He would understand_ , she thought, when she first met him. The man who looked nothing like his handsome older brother, the man completely lacking his brother’s charms and gallantry.  He would know what it felt like, to be disliked, overlooked, ignored, even hated, for nothing more than the sin of being who you are. She saw them as kindred spirits, almost. Together they would teach the world that they were not to be ignored, that they would not cower or hide away in shame, that they were forces to be reckoned with.

He  _did_  understand, perhaps too well. He saw her and was reminded of himself and how the world had treated him, and despised her all the more for it. So she closed her eyes and she closed her heart and she taught herself not to care. Not to love.

 _This is how you protect yourself_. She learned that lesson the hard way. 


	2. Chapter 2

**First Night**

Legs. Entangled legs, she saw those first, in the dimness of the room lighted only by a single candle. Her mind was slow to decipher what she was witnessing at first.  _Are those Stannis’ legs, and mine, in our wedding bed?_   

_Is it over? The bedding?_

That her first thought had been relief, at the thought that the bedding  _was_  over, would haunt her for a long time to come.

“Robert!” Stannis’ voice was like a thunder before a great storm.

“I am sorry, Lord Stannis. Please forgive me, Selyse. His Grace … he … he took me here. I … I could not …” Delena would not stop crying and apologizing. Selyse’s head was pounding.

“Out! Out both of you!” Stannis had taken hold of Robert’s arm, and was pushing him out of the room. Delena wrapped herself with a blanket and ran out after the drunken king, her cries still audible.

“You! You there, come here.”

What was her husband doing, calling for a maid? No one should be privy to their humiliation, to the insult Robert Baratheon had piled on them on their wedding night. “My lord –“ Selyse started to say.

“Fetch me a bedsheet and some blankets,” Stannis ordered the puzzled maid, and promptly closed the door with a thud. Before Selyse could move, he had stripped the bed bare, throwing the soiled bedsheet in a corner, fury and disgust palpable on his face.

When the maid came back with the new bedsheet and blankets, Selyse took them from her and said firmly, “Thank you, you can go now.”

“Should I put the bedsheet on, m’lady?”

“No!” Selyse snapped angrily. “Leave us.”

Her hands trembled as she made the bed. Stannis was staring at the soiled bedsheet in the corner, his eyes boring into the offending article as if he could set them on fire with his furious gaze.

“My lord husband, the bed is ready.” She made sure that her voice was not trembling.

_A son. I will give him a son._

He came to her, reluctantly, and they both did their duty. But a curse had been put on their wedding bed, Selyse was convinced, when a boy did not come from their union, that night and all the nights after.

There  _was_  a boy conceived in that same bed that night, a bastard with his father’s black hair and his mother’s Florent ears.

_They stole our son! Robert and Delena stole our son, when they made that bastard Edric Storm on our wedding bed._


	3. Chapter 3

**Child**

She wrote to Stannis when Maester Cressen told her that the babe was not long in coming. “War with the Greyjoy is coming,” was her husband’s terse reply in his letter. “I cannot leave my brother’s side and desert my duty as his Master of Ships, not at this time.”

“I will give you the good news about our son as soon as he is born, my lord husband,” Selyse wrote him back. She had no doubt that it would be a boy. How could it be otherwise, when she had prayed to every god there was, the old gods and the new?

That old fool Cressen tried to weaken her conviction. “There is no way to know for certain, my lady. Not until the babe is born.”

“I am carrying a son! He is  _inside_  me, moving around, kicking me. Don’t you think I would know whether it is a boy or a girl?”

The maester looked down quickly, but not before Selyse saw the look of pity on his face.

 _How dare you pity me?_    _Who do you think you are?_  She had never liked the maester, but her husband thought of the old man almost like a father.

The look of pity was back on Cressen’s face when he silently handed the babe to Selyse.  _Black hair_ , Selyse thought, smiling. A black-haired Baratheon babe. She could not wait to write to Stannis, telling him the joyful news _._

_I have given Stannis a son. Robert and Delena are not the only ones who can make sons._

_I have given Stannis an heir. He will not be so indifferent to me now. To us, his wife and son._

But why was Cressen looking at her with that look of pity on his face? Selyse’s gaze inspected the babe more closely, and she saw what was missing. A girl. She had given birth to a girl.

“No!” She blurted out, angry at the gods, angry at the curse Robert and Delena had put on her marriage bed, angry at her husband for not being here.

But in time, Selyse grew to love that child. A love she had never felt for anything or anyone before. When Shireen was struck with greyscale and almost died, Selyse cursed the gods even harder.

 _Why are you punishing me for praying for a son, when you never granted me that wish in the first place?_   

 _If you let my daughter live, I will never again pray for a son_ , she bargained with the old gods and the new. Shireen lived, and Selyse kept her promise. She never stopped trying for a son - never stopped working, plotting and scheming for a son, for to get her husband in bed was a most difficult undertaking - but she stopped praying to the gods for a son.

Until the day Melisandre arrived at Dragonstone with a different god. A red god who promised Selyse everything she had fervently wished for, and more. Selyse prayed and prayed, and never stopped praying. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Dreams**

“He is so very severe. Lord Stannis, that is. Not the king.”

Something in Delena’s voice caught Selyse’s attention. She turned around sharply to look at Delena. “The king? We are not talking about the king. We’re talking about Stannis Baratheon.”

“It’s a shame uncle Alester could not arrange for you to have the king instead,” Delena whispered, and then started giggling uncontrollably. “He’s like a king from the storybooks. So brave, completely charming and very, very good looking.”

Selyse ignored Delena’s silly fantasies about Robert Baratheon. On the other hand …

Queen Selyse. She could not truly say that the thought had never occurred to her. But Robert Baratheon was already married, and his brother Stannis was not. Uncle Alester had been very pleased with the betrothal. “ _A king’s brother._ _You are to be married to a king’s brother, Selyse. My niece, the good-sister to King Robert Baratheon. Mace Tyrell with all the riches of House Tyrell and his fraudulent claim to be Lord of the Reach and Highgarden could not manage that for his sisters. Or his daughter.”_

“Will you stay at Dragonstone after the wedding?” Delena asked.

Selyse scoffed. “Of course not. Lord Stannis spends most of his time at King’s Landing serving in the King’s Small Council. As his wife, my duty is to be by his side.”

Delena nodded. “Dragonstone must be a very grim and lonely place in any case. It’s a pity Lord Stannis does not rule Storm’s End instead.”

Selyse frowned. She did not like to be reminded of that. “He should have, if King Robert had followed the letter of the law,” Selyse snapped. But no matter. Her future husband was able, aye, able and talented. His brother would see and appreciate his ability, and in time, Stannis Baratheon would be more than just the Master of Ships and Lord of Dragonstone. Hand of the King, in not too long a time, Selyse expected. Jon Arryn the current Hand was well-advanced in age. Who else would King Robert trust to be his next Hand, if not his own brother, his flesh and blood?

She would give Stannis plenty of sons and daughters. Perhaps one of their daughters would marry King Robert’s eldest son. Selyse would not be queen, but maybe her daughter could.

“Do you love him?” Delena’s voice jolted Selyse from her reverie.

“Who?”

“Lord Stannis, of course. Who else?”

“What a silly question, Delena. I barely know him, we’ve only met the one time.”

“Will you love him, once you have known him?”

“I’m sure I will,” Selyse replied without hesitation. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Hospital drama AU, three-sentence fic**

His lack of drive frustrated her, his habit of assuming that the world would come to recognize his qualities and his merits on its own and would reward him appropriately without him having to do anything to promote himself; he was undoubtedly one of the best cardiac surgeons in the country, if not  _the_ best, so it stands to reason that the recently vacant position of Chief of Surgery should be his by merit, and it never occurred to him that anyone else would be appointed, or was even in the running.

“That’s not how these things work,” she tried to tell him, “you have to put yourself forward, show them that you are the best candidate, talk to the right people and the right committees,” all the things that seemed not only reasonable but also very important, but he scoffed and told her he would not demean himself to the level of politicking and kissing asses, and she was not to do it on his behalf either.

It would have been better if he had been born truly indifferent to the opinion of others, unmoved by the judgment of the world, Selyse thought after he failed to get the Chief of Surgery position (to his great surprise but not hers) - for this residing in the in-between world of steadfastly refusing to bend to accommodate the world or to flatter anyone, yet in his own way still caring about how others saw him and how they were judging him -  _this_  was making him more miserable and more bitter with each passing day. 


	6. Chapter 6

> _Renly says that Robert carried the girl upstairs during the feast, and broke in the wedding bed while Stannis and his bride were still dancing. (A Game of Thrones)_

“They say Lord Stannis does not dance,” Delena whispers. “They say he has no liking for musicians and singers too, for that matter.”

“They, they. Who are these _they_?” Selyse grumbles. “Who _are_ they, really? What do they know of him truly?” She has heard too many disparaging tales about Stannis Baratheon; most of them lies, half-truths and exaggerations, she is certain.

Who knows what Stannis has been hearing about _her_? What scurrilous tales Stannis has been told about the woman he has just wed?

Delena continues, “They say he –“

“Enough!” Selyse snaps. She has no wish to listen to more scurrilous tales about her husband on the way to their own wedding feast.

Delena face falls. Her eyes start tearing up. “I am only worried about you, Selyse. What kind of home will you be going to? A cheerless one, with a grim and cheerless husband, it seems like.”

Selyse grits her teeth. Delena _means_ well, Selyse reminds herself, even if her patience is often taxed by her cousin’s antics. Touching Delena’s arm, a gesture that comes unnaturally to Selyse, but one that she knows will inordinately please her cousin, Selyse says, “You do not have to worry. It will be a home of my own making, not anyone else’s. There is nothing cheerless in that for me.”

That has been her greatest wish, since the day she was sent to Brightwater Keep to be raised by proud uncle Alester and his lady wife, after the death of her father and mother. A home of her own. Of her own making. A home of her own where she is not the poor relation always expected to be not just grateful, but _cheerfully_ grateful. A home of her own where her every word and every expression is not constantly scrutinized for signs of ingratitude or insolence, where she is not persistently lectured that her tongue is too sharp for her own good.

 _A home of our own, Stannis_ , she thinks, later, when her husband comes for her.

“My lady,” he says, abruptly.

“My lord.”

“My brother tells me it is customary for the bride and groom to dance at the feast.”

“I was told that you do not dance, my lord,” Selyse braves the reply.

Stannis frowns. “Told? Told by whom?”

Selyse smiles. The tone of his voice almost exactly matches hers when she was asking Delena about who the ‘ _they_ ’ were. _We will fit_ , she thinks, _we will fit snugly together like a hand inside the perfectly-sized glove._

They dance after all, the bride and the groom, with imperfect steps and ungraceful movements, nobody’s idea of the golden couple.

“They are staring at us,” Stannis says, at one point, his eyes glancing at the guests.

“Let them,” Selyse replies. There will always be some ‘ _they_ ’ who are staring, mocking, judging. For once, Selyse does not care. She is part of a ‘ _we_ ’ now, a ‘ _we_ ’ that fits together perfectly, as she sees it. _We will show them, Stannis. Together we will show all of them what we are capable of._

She searches the crowd for a glimpse of her cousin _._

_Look Delena, we are dancing. He is dancing with me, Stannis Baratheon. My husband. My other half._

But Delena is nowhere to be found.


	7. Chapter 7

This is a companion piece to this [Ormund/Rhaelle drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6889087/chapters/15716635).

_____________________

He found Selyse in the sept, kneeling in front of the Mother, her hands folded beneath her chin, her eyes red and her cheeks tear-stricken, her lips desperately murmuring words he could not hear.

“Pray with me,” she insisted, when she finally noticed his presence.

He shook his head. “What is the use?” The gods did not listen to his prayers when Windproud was sinking, why should they listen now when his daughter was dying?

 _Prayers are not just for the gods, but for our own peace of mind_ , _to bring us comfort_ , his mother had told him, long ago.

But what comfort could these monsters bring him now? Only lies. Only false hope. Oh he had been comforted, comforted and so very hopeful, praying to each and all of the Seven, when the storm was raging over Shipbreaker Bay. _The gods would not be so cruel. The storm will abate, and Father and Mother will return home safely. We will all laugh together and tell many tales about it, about their grand adventure at sea, their great escape._

He would laugh too, laugh as loudly and as boisterously as Robert. _See, Father, I do know how to laugh after all. You have no reason to worry._

What a naïve boy he had been. No, he had not even the excuse of being a boy. He was a young man four-and-ten that day, the day he was orphaned, old enough to know better.

Selyse was trying to rise from her kneeling position, with difficulty. She must have been kneeling in the sept for hours. Awkwardly, he extended his hand to help her up, but she brushed it aside, rising on her own accord. Her face was full of fury. “You will not do this, not even for your daughter? You would not mutter only a few words to the gods for _her_ sake? Is your pride more important than your daughter’s life?”

“It is not pride!”

“Then what is it? Tell me! Tell me, what is more important than the life of your own child?”

“Prayers will not save her. The gods are not benevolent creatures who will grant us our heart’s desires.” _Monster. They are monsters, Selyse._

“Would you have prayed for her life, if Shireen is a boy? If I had given you a son instead of a daughter?”

“Is that what you think of me? Is that the kind of father you take me to be?”

“Why should you be any different than any other father? Or mother, for that matter. I wanted a son. I wanted to give you a son and heir. It is my duty, I believed. I prayed for a son, every day that I was carrying Shireen in my womb. And when Maester Cressen placed her in my arms, I wept not with joy, but with disappointment at my own failure.”

“But you love her. I have seen you with her.” The tenderness and care that Selyse had shown Shireen, he had not seen her that way with anyone else.

“That came later. But that day, that moment when she was first placed in my arms … she knows, poor child. She knows of her mother’s sin.”   

“She is a babe. She knows nothing of the sort.”  

“That is why we must pray. We must pray that the gods will not punish Shireen in order to punish _me_. Or us.”

“They have no right to punish anyone. No right at all.”

Those words did not give her comfort at all. “Right? What does right have to do with it? I only want Shireen to be safe. I only want our daughter to live.”

He lit the candle in front of the Father and stood stiffly beside his wife as she prayed.

Father Above, judging his children. _And I will judge you, you and all your ilks, if Shireen does not survive,_ he vowed.     


End file.
